Sunday, 9 March 2008

The kiss of Boreas

It's so cold. I haven't felt a cold like this before, it strikes straight down from the top of my head, through my spine, and plunges on into my feet. My head feels strangely light, almost detached from the rest of me, and there's a kind of pain in my head, but I'm not sure that my head is really mine anymore. I might have borrowed it, I might have picked the wrong head up off the hatrack (the headrack?) when I left the house this morning. Could this be my wife's head? Is this why it doesn't seem to fit properly?

I'm starting to shiver, and I know that I mustn't. I'm wearing a shirt, and a jumper and a coat that's thicker than my youngest son, and he's pretty dim. Burned out lightbulbs seem to shine when placed next to him. But the shakes are becoming uncontrollable. no matter how hard I tense, my muscles vibrate like the modes of a superstring and I worry that my gravitational attraction will increase and draw in everyone around me, to point and to jeer as I fall to floor in numb, unconscious agony.

I can feel my head starting to melt now, and there's a strange light shining in my eyes, migraining my brain, and I can taste vanilla in my mouth but I'm sure it should be blood. I stumble, and my legs give out, the icy chill that penetrates me like an impaling icicle from my head to the floor wins over, and Boreas cheers somewhere behind the roar of blood in my ears.

"Are you ok, sir?" asks a titan standing over me, and even though he's in silhouette I know that this is the end. He reaches a hand down on the end of a very long arm, and lifts off my hat, and the frozen turkey and half-melted tub of ice-cream slide from my scalp to the floor. I make no effort to move, knowing that when he picks me up, the frozen sausages strapped around my waist will fall free as well. Security have me, and no doubt I'll do time in the cooler.